Bound to Her Blood Enemy

by Tora Williams

  All thought of who she was disappeared. She was simply a woman making a brave gesture and he was overwhelmed by the need to comfort her. “You have beautiful hair, Mallt, like spun sunshine.” His voice sounded hoarse in his own ears. “Cutting won’t change that.”

  By all the saints, it wasn’t her hair alone that was beautiful. Not just her face and figure either. No, it was the woman within. The woman who had lost everything she held dear and suffered cruelty for much of her life, yet hadn’t given up hope. Hadn’t abandoned her intrinsic goodness.

  He struggled to close his mind to her qualities, but his regard for her won out. Her obvious sorrow over her mother made him wish she could take joy in the bluebells of Coed Bedwen once again.

  With trembling hands, he picked up his knife and began to cut. As each strand of hair fell to the ground he felt his own convictions crumble. Did anything link her to her grandfather besides her name?

  The rasping saw of severing hair filled the silence, making him wince. Strange it should affect him so when he had killed many men without flinching once. Soon the ground was covered with tendrils of gold. Matilda’s hair no longer reached to her hips, but fell around her face in a chin-length cap. It framed her face, emphasizing the exquisitely chiseled nose and cheekbones and the full curves of her lips.

  Lips he had an overpowering urge to kiss.

  He sheathed his knife, backing away. Only last night he had promised not to touch her. He couldn’t afford to throw away what little trust he had earned by giving in to his desire, no matter how much he burned for her. “There. I’m finished.”

  Matilda turned to face him, running her fingers through her hair, pulling a face when they reached the blunt ends. “Well, no one’s going to believe I’m a Norman now. How do I look? No, don’t tell me; I don’t think I need to know.”

  “You look like a true Welsh woman.” In fact, with the sunlight turning her hair into a glowing halo, she still looked like a stained-glass angel.

  She gave a twisted smile. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. I thought I’d always be a Norman outsider to you.”

  “Is that how you feel—an outsider?” He shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he had hardly made her feel welcome.

  She looked down at the village below. “Coed Bedwen is the only place I’ve ever felt at home. The only place I want to live. That’s why it’s so important to me.”

  He stood beside her and looked down, remembering her challenge to him from before the wedding—forgetting why it was so important to his father, what made Coed Bedwen special to him?

  He still couldn’t answer. It was too tied up in his oath. Without that, it had no meaning.

  “It’s important to me as well,” he said, in denial of his uncertainty, defying her to disagree.

  Matilda glanced sideways at him. “Huw, is it true that my grandfather killed yours?”

  “That’s what my father told me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She spoke so quietly he could hardly hear her voice above the din of the birds shrilling warnings of the coming rain. Nevertheless, each word struck his heart, piercing through the protective armor that years of hardship had placed there. “I’m sorry your family suffered at his hands. I know winning Coed Bedwen back won’t undo the harm done, but I hope it will ease the pain in your heart.”

  She placed a hand on his arm with a hesitant smile. It was only the lightest of touches, but the jolt reverberated through his body.

  “I…thank you,” he said. He had to turn away so she wouldn’t see the sudden tremble of his mouth. The beliefs his life had been based on were crumbling, and without them he didn’t know what he was. But he could deny it no longer: she might bear the same name as her grandfather, but that was the only thing they shared. Her heart was true, not the blackened, cursed stone that he’d been taught to believe lurked in the breast of every Comyn. At last he allowed himself to admit the truth that should have been clear to him from the start: she was innocent of the crimes committed by her grandfather.

  He could never hurt her.

  It took a moment to compose his features before he faced Matilda. “It’s time to move on; it’s going to rain soon.”

  Matilda nodded and turned away, her eyes downcast. She must have expected him to say more, but he was at a loss for words.

  She picked up her coif and tied it closely around her head, tucking her shorn hair inside. Huw watched her for a moment, then looked down at Coed Bedwen once more. A chill seized him. This was the very spot where his father had forced him to swear his oath. The oath that had given his life purpose. Meaning. Oh, he knew he could never harm Matilda as it demanded. Owain, curse him, had probably realized that all along. But without his oath to sustain him, what was he?

  Mocking laughter rang in the back of his mind and he heard his great-uncle’s voice. You are nothing.

  “Is something the matter, Huw? Did I say something wrong?”

  He started and turned to find Matilda waiting for him, her coif neatly bound.

  He forced a smile. “Nothing at all. Come, it’s time we went down to the village.”

  But his great-uncle’s voice followed him down the hill.

  A narrow path led off the hillside, growing steeper as it approached the birch wood. They were forced to slow down for fear of tripping. To make matters worse, the dark clouds had soon covered the sky from horizon to horizon and a light rain began to fall, making the path slippery underfoot.

  They were about to enter the woods when Matilda slid and would have fallen had not Huw caught her around the waist. He let his arm linger, enjoying the feel of her in his arms.

  For a moment, Matilda relaxed against him, and he breathed in the scent of honeysuckle. His hand slipped from her waist to the flare of her hip. It felt so right to hold her, protect her.

  She tensed and pulled away. “I can manage now.”

  Huw loosened his hold but took her arm instead of letting her go. “If you fall and hurt yourself, it would ruin all our plans.”

  Now that his eyes were opened to her innocence, it was as though he was seeing her for the first time. Although he regretted the loss of her beautiful hair, he had to admit her new style suited her. With it bundled beneath her veil, it allowed him to see the elegant lines of her long neck and the set of her shoulders. He followed the sweep of her throat from where it appeared beneath the neck of her gown, up to the angle of her jaw and the shadowy hollow behind her ear. A sudden urge struck him to trace the line with his fingers and follow with his lips. Heat swept through him as he imagined placing his lips just below her jaw, tasting her flesh and feeling the flutter of her pulse.

  The surge of desire drowned out his great-uncle’s voice. It was still there tickling the back of his mind, but he refused to listen.

  “It’s going to take longer than I expected to get down to the village.” Matilda’s voice shook, almost as though she, too, was affected by their closeness.

  “It will be too late to ask for work. We must find shelter for the night as soon as we get there. Otherwise we’re in danger of having to spend the night in the woods.” Focus on the important issues, he told himself, not the voice, nor the pulsing heat Matilda’s presence sent through his veins.

  With a supreme force of will, he managed to thrust aside all thoughts except those directly involving their mission.

  They had just entered the woods when Matilda stopped dead, nearly tripping Huw. “I have an idea.” Matilda’s face was lit with excitement. “My old nurse married the tavern keeper in the village. After her husband died she carried on running it alone. She’d take us in, I’m sure of it.”

  “But she’ll recognize you.”

  “She’d never give me away.” Her voice was firm. “She was the sweetest, kindest soul. Besides, she’s Saxon. I’m sure she’d welcome the chance to see the Normans gone from Coed Bedwen, just as much as the Welsh would.”

  Huw frowned. “I agree she would be useful, and a tavern would be a good center for organiz
ing a rebellion. But we must be careful. We can’t be sure she won’t betray us. We’ll watch her for a day or two until I’m sure of her. It’s hard enough for me to trust you. I don’t think I could trust a stranger.”

  She shot him a smile that made his heart race. “You trust me?”

  “I already said I do. I’ll tell you if that changes.”

  “Then trust me in this. Alys would never betray us.”

  Hellfire! He should have stood his ground with Owain and refused to take her. Because with her standing so close, gazing up at him with those wide blue eyes, it was taking all his resolve to keep from pulling her to him and kissing her senseless. He had no strength left to deny her.

  “Very well,” he said. “We’ll find Alys. But once we’ve introduced ourselves, I’ll do the talking. I need to make up my own mind about her before deciding how much to reveal.”

  To get to the village, they had to walk through a mile of woodland after reaching the bottom of the hill. Where the trees ended, there were sheep and cattle grazing on common land, followed by strip fields. Many of them were newly ploughed; puddles of water glistened in the furrows.

  By the time they had reached the first cottage, they were both wet and cold from the persistent rain.

  “Now,” said Huw, side-stepping to avoid tripping over a hen that was pecking in the dirt at his feet, “lead us to the tavern.”

  A cobbled lane wove past houses and stalls, leading to the castle that loomed over everything at the far side. Narrow paths led off from the track on both sides, giving access to huddled buildings that leaned in all directions. The smell of wood smoke and manure clung to everything. The street was full of people scurrying about their business. Most turned to stare as they passed.

  “This way.” Matilda pointed down what appeared to be the second widest lane. “I can’t remember for sure, but it looks familiar.”

  As they walked down the lane, a stout woman approached them, carrying a brimming bucket of slops with both hands. Matilda glanced at her and then stopped, her face alight with a smile.

  “Alys,” she said, before he could stop her from speaking. “It is Alys, isn’t it?”

  Huw held his breath. All could be lost in a few brief heartbeats. He squeezed Matilda’s arm, praying she would take the warning not to say more than necessary.

  Alys paused and looked Matilda up and down. She frowned. “You do look familiar, but I can’t for the life of me say where I’ve seen you before.”

  “Oh Alys, don’t you remember me? It’s Matilda. I know it’s years since you last saw me, but—”

  “Bless my heart! It’s my little Matilda! Look at you, all grown up.” Alys eyed Matilda’s clothes and frowned. “But why are you dressed like that? What’s happened?”

  Matilda opened her mouth again, but Huw cut in. “We shall explain all, mistress, but it needs to be told in private.” Thankfully, the lane was deserted, but someone could walk by at any moment.

  “Of course. Wait here while I deal with this”—Alys nodded toward the bucket—“then you may come with me. The tavern will be quiet for another hour or two. We can talk there in peace.”

  While Alys hurried to empty her bucket in a stinking ditch, Huw eyed the buildings farther up the lane. They were all low, thatched buildings. Most had open shutters, behind which tradesmen plied their wares, but the last house in the lane had a sign outside with a crude picture of a boar’s head scratched upon it. The sign was hung with vine leaves. This must be the tavern.

  Alys returned, wiping her hands on her apron. “Come with me. You can take your rest and tell me everything.”

  They followed Alys up the lane. Once in the Boar’s Head, Alys poured them some wine, then she filled a brimming cup for herself, and they sat beside the hearth to dry themselves off. “Now tell me what brings you here.” She turned her gaze upon Huw. “And with such a fine young man.”

  Thinking quickly, Huw said, “Matilda has escaped from her guardian.” He was afraid that Matilda would reveal the truth of their mission if he didn’t give a good reason for her being here and in such a state.

  With a knowing smile, Alys said, “Ah, and she’s run away with you?” She pinched his cheek. “I can’t say I blame her. If I were twenty years younger, I’d be tempted myself.”

  Huw opened his mouth to correct her, then thought again. Safer to let her think they had eloped and were seeking shelter from a wrathful guardian. What she didn’t know, she couldn’t betray.

  He put his arm around Matilda and pulled her close. Heaven knew it was no trial to pretend to be in love with her. As long as that was all it remained. A pretense.

  The sneering voice fought to make itself heard again, reminding him why love was not an option. You are nothing.

  He unwound his arm from Matilda and put some space between them. It was easier to think that way. “You won’t give us away, will you? We’re married now. Sir Reginald threatened to see me hanged if I lay a hand on Matilda, but I couldn’t face life without her.”

  “Never you worry, my dears, you can stay here awhile, and no one will ask questions. I’ve been needing another hand to help me, ever since the last lad was carried off by the sweating sickness last summer.”

  “Oh, thank you, Alys!” Matilda flung her arms around Alys’s waist. “I’m so glad we found you.”

  “As to that, what brought you to Coed Bedwen, if you were running from your guardian? He pays regular visits to the castle, you know. There’ll be all hell to pay if he finds you here.”

  Huw exchanged a brief glance with Matilda. That was a good question.

  “Is he here now?” Huw asked. He felt Matilda tense beside him.

  “No, but he never gives much warning of a visit.”

  “Even if he was here, I doubt he would recognize me, dressed like this,” Matilda said. “The truth is, Alys, I thought of you at once. I’ve missed you so much, and I wanted to see you again.”

  “Oh, you poor lamb,” said Alys, enveloping Matilda in a hug. “I’ve missed you too.”

  There was no more talk of their reason for choosing Coed Bedwen. Huw breathed again. Matilda was coping well, despite her aversion to lies.

  There was fresh discomfort when Alys led them, candle in hand, up a set of creaking stairs to a tiny room in a raised gallery at the back of the tavern. Its main function was as a storeroom for herbs. Great bunches of sage, hyssop, rosemary, and lavender hung from the rafters, filling the air with their fragrance. By the flickering candlelight, Huw could just make out shelves bowed with the weight of jars. Against one wall was the traditional Welsh bed, stuffed with rushes and covered with a coarse sheet and a blanket.

  “I know it’s not what you’re used to,” said Alys with an apologetic smile. “But it’s warm and dry up here.”

  “It’s perfect,” Huw said, although he knew from experience that the bed would feel as though it was stuffed with rocks.

  “Now you get some sleep. I can see you’re worn out. I must go and serve in the tavern.”

  “One last thing,” said Huw as a thought hit him. “It would be best if you didn’t mention our presence to anyone. But if anyone asks, don’t use Matilda’s name. She’s going by the name of Mallt.” He repeated the story they had decided upon. “Fitzjohn’s men are here and all would be lost if word got back to him of Matilda’s whereabouts.”

  Alys nodded. “You can depend on me.”

  Huw prayed that was true. He still wasn’t convinced of the wisdom of taking shelter with Alys, but it was too late to change things now.

  She lit a few rush lights for them and then left. In the silence that fell, Huw could hear the stairs groan as Alys descended.

  He turned his eyes back to the bed.

  Chapter Nine

  Matilda looked at the bed. Surely that couldn’t be big enough for the two of them, yet where would the other sleep, if only one of them took the pallet? Despite herself, she yawned. It had been a tiring day, and she ached all over from the long journey. Whatever
they decided, it would have to be soon. She couldn’t stay awake for much longer.

  “You take the bed,” said Huw.

  “Where will you sleep?” There wasn’t room on the floor for a man of Huw’s height to lie stretched out.

  “I’ll do well enough in the corner, rolled in one of the blankets. I’ve slept in far more uncomfortable situations, believe me.”

  She did believe him. Owain’s spy could hardly expect a lavish welcome wherever his duty took him. She shivered, imagining the filthy alleys and chilly barns where he must have sought shelter.

  She wished there was a way she could make up for the hardships he had endured as a result of her grandfather’s actions. If only he would let her. She felt another twist of disappointment as she recalled how he had turned away when she had reached out to him, tried to apologize for her heritage. There was a gulf between them that she couldn’t cross.

  “We can share the bed. We’re married, after all,” she said. Her insides quivered; sharing the narrow bed would mean lying close together. Despite her first stirrings of desire, she couldn’t push aside her deeply ingrained distrust. However, not only had he promised not to touch her, she also wanted to close the gulf between them, to make amends for her family’s wrongs.

  She couldn’t put that jumble of thoughts into words, though. Instead she nodded to the entrance to their room, which only consisted of a sackcloth curtain. “Anyone could look in and see us. There would be awkward questions if we weren’t seen to be sharing a bed. And we can’t afford questions.”

  Huw glanced at the door and grimaced. “You’re right.” Then he smiled. “I’m glad to see you’ve been paying attention. I’ll make a spy out of you yet, Mallt.”

  His smile transformed his face, making him appear younger, almost carefree. This was how he would have looked if he hadn’t spent his life in the shadows, chasing secrets. Of course, if his life had been different, they would never have met. She wouldn’t be here.

  She rubbed her temples. So much had happened over the past few days she’d had no chance to take in the huge changes in her life. Now it was sinking in. She was in a strange land, married to a man she hardly knew. Dependent on him.